


Drip Drop

by tsumukun



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Retired Oikawa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-01-04 05:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18336794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsumukun/pseuds/tsumukun
Summary: Oikawa didn’t respond. His next move would be one of two things. Either he would throw something, or he would burst into tears.I felt helpless every time this would happen.





	1. Tooru

 

Every night, Ushijima stepped out to water the planters before he went to bed. He was convinced that the routine was responsible for his little farm being fruitful for the past couple of years. I went out on the veranda too—not to water the plants but to gaze at the stars and look at Ushijima. I loved staring at his face as he focus on his daily ritual, the starlit sky accentuated the hard lines between his brows—definitely formed by his habitual frowning I’m sure. He had a beautiful face, with strong features and short eyelashes.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asked as he put down the aluminum can in the now almost empty bucket. I saw him punching holes under a soft drink can with an awl one time. Yes, he also had an amazing mind and consideration for the environment. Yet another thing I find endearing about him.

“Life,” I said. I’d meant it as a joke, but Ushijima nodded seriously. I couldn’t help but chuckle a little and started humming to _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star_. These were my happiest moments—out in the veranda with my housemate, a glass of Irish whiskey in my hand, the night air cool against my skin. 

But I could never stay out too long before I felt the cold and a tingling sensation on my right knee. 

I hurried back into the warm apartment and plugged the mottled black and white cord and waited. After a while, I folded back the covers and ran the hot iron over the sheets from one corner of the bed to the other. I didn’t hum as I did when I smoothed out wrinkles from my laundry. I focused on what I was doing. This was serious work; speed was the key. It was one of the few household chores Ushijima demanded of me. I briskly pulled back the covers and unplugged the iron.

“Ready!” I half-shouted as I emerge from Ushijima’s room. 

We have been rival since middle school. Teammates for eight years, housemate for three years now—but explaining our friendship was no simple matter.

“Thanks,” Ushijima said with his usual blank expression, although by now I could tell if his eyes are smiling or not. I could hear his sheets shuffling and felt satisfied to know he’s turning in for the day. I went into my room and did the same before getting in between the warm sheets with a smile.

 

* * *

Ever since I busted my knee about four years ago and was forced to retire from professional volleyball, I started doing some translation work from English, as a kind of part-time job. Since it was about time I finished up with a research piece that I’d been nibbling at the whole month, I turned off the bedroom lights, closed the door, and went and sat down at my desk. I poured myself a whiskey, freely. That deep, rich hue of gold—what a way it had to entrance me. 

_“Alcoholism? I don’t think you need to worry about that!” The doctor had dismissed, laughing. “I’m sure it’s a passing fancy. And remember, Jesus thought it alright to take a little wine for your health,” he said. “I’m giving you some vitamins. Just try not to worry yourself sick.”_  
  
“Try not to worry yourself sick,” I imitated the doctor out loud, swilling my whiskey tumbler.

All of a sudden, I felt that I was being watched. I turned around to look: it was the yucca plant staring over at me menacingly. “Protection”—the potted plant’s ironic symbolism in contrast to its appearance, was a housewarming gift from Atsumu. With its dense foliage of large, sharp, straight, blade-like leaves, it seemed eager to pick a fight.

I glared back at Atsumu’s tree and downed the rest of my whiskey.

 

* * *

Ushijima was already in the kitchen when I woke up. “Morning, you want me to fry you up some eggs?” 

I shook my head.

“An orange maybe?”

“Yes, please.”

By the time I was back from my morning shower, Ushijima had done the dishes. On a glass plate he had set out for me was an orange, sliced into comb shapes, dripping with juice. As I sat eating, Ushijima programmed the heater to keep the room temperature stable and picked out the day’s background music for me.

I filled a cup and watered the Tree of Protection. Through the wooden blinds, the morning sun drew bright stripes on the carpet. The water sounded delicious as it hissed through the soil.  
  
“Ushiwaka-chan, Tell me about ‘Tsumu-chan,” I pestered.

“When I get home,” replied Ushijima.

Ushijima, who still plays for the national team, drove off every morning at 9:05 on the dot. Apart from training camps, his weekly cycle was a regular salaried man’s, with a two-day weekend.

Having seen my housemate off, and having skimmed the day’s papers, I decided to finish up the research paper, which I hadn’t done the night before. I was still feeling unwell from having translated _Stuff They Don’t Want You To Know: The Misunderstood History of The Flat Earth Theory,_ when the phone rang. My mother called me almost every day. 

“Feeling fine?”

She sounded so concern that I become a little irritated and snapped at her. “Fine? What do you mean, _‘fine’_?”

At the top of my bedroom chest, along with my MacBook instruction manual and the unfilled and unsigned lease for my room, were two medical reports. My mother’s voice tended to remind me of them. True she only knew about one: the self-contradictory certificate according to which my _mental illness_ _was nothing abnormal._

“The term _‘mental illness’_ covers such a wide range of conditions, you see,” the dunce of a doctor had explained. “You aren’t _not_ suffering from a mental illness. Don’t worry, though—it’s no more than a case of _post-surgery depression and anxiety_. Your drinking is probably a manifestation of it. I’m sure you’d start feeling better in no time if you surround yourself with family and friends or if—and I say this just for instance—you got married.” 

If you got married! 

His irresponsible advice was to blame for eight meetings with potential marriage partners and me running away from home a handful of times.

“What’s wrong? Sounds like you’re in a bad mood,” my mother said.

“Not really. It’s just that I was in the middle of work.” I carried the phone into the kitchen and took a can of yuzu fizz from the fridge. I opened the can with my free hand. 

“That’s good, but make sure you get housework done, too,” my mother said. Ushijima had let me ‘crash over’ at his place in exchange of me taking care of the household chores. “Don’t drink too much. Your father and I will come to see you soon. Say hi to Wakatoshi-kun for me.” I hung up the phone and threw the can into the trash bin.

My mother was beyond grateful and overjoyed when she heard from Iwa-chan that I started to talk to him, meeting people, doing household chores, going out for walks, just having a semblance of a normal routine in life again. All that after Ushijima had kindly offered to let me crash at his when I run away from home. 

On the flip side, however, I would have random bouts of panic attacks, mostly when the thought of being too over-dependent on Ushijima flashed through my mind. I hate the thought of him leaving me.

When I told Ushijima about that, on one of my mental breakdowns, he earnestly said, “Oikawa, I won’t ever leave you alone unless you want me to. If something is bothering you, please share your worries with me.”

That’s why I dread my mother’s phone calls. They make me mull over things I’d rather forget. The thing is, you see, I realised I started seeing Ushijima in a different light—more than a good friend and definitely more so than a housemate. But the fact was that he was in a very committed relationship for many, many years now. So you see how things stand. The perfect guy who had gotten everything he ever wanted and the guy who could never get the one thing he ever wanted, living together under the same roof.

 

* * *

 

“So, what would you like to hear about?” Ushijima said. “The movies I saw with Atsumu? The time he and I went to the beach?”

It was cold out on the veranda and the blanket I had wrapped around my shoulders dragged like the Little Prince’s mantle. I sipped my whiskey with relish.

“Tell me about when you went to the mountains.”

“Can’t—we never did,” Ushijima said matter-of-factly.

“Then tell me how ‘Tsumu-chan fought it out with a cat.”

“But I just told you that one.”

“Encore, encore,” I said, giving my glass a shake and rattling the ice by way of applause. 

Ushijima took a long draught from his bottle of Evian and begin his tale.

“Atsumu had this shibaken called _‘Tooro’_ ever since it was a puppy. He had a rule in dealing with it: whenever he had to scold Tooro, or just got mad at it for some reason, he always had to get down on all fours first. He didn’t think it was fair to yell down at the dog from on high, up on two feet, or to hit it with his free _‘front paws’,_ meaning his hands. Atsumu was quite serious about these match-ups. From Tooro’s point of view, though, Atsumu was an old buddy, so the dueling never escalated beyond rolling around on the floor. But one day when Atsumu came over to my place—and I had a cat back then, I guess about five years ago, somehow or other Atsumu had gotten down on all fours and was suddenly lunging at my cat. Obviously, I’m very surprised by what’s happening. But not as surprised as my cat. His name was Hayashi. And Hayashi, who’s excited, has no qualms about using his hands. And unlike dogs, of course, he’s pretty good with them. Better than people, even. And what’s more, he has claws. By the end, Atsumu’s face was covered in blood like some villain’s at the end of a samurai drama. It was pretty bad, actually.”

He took a big gulp of his Evian and closed his eyes nostalgically. I was very happy with Ushijima, who retold a story without skimping on the details.

* * *

 

Two days after the deadline, I finally handed the manuscript to my editor at a coffee shop by the train station. It was such a wonderful, clear day that I turned my walk home into a little promenade, only to find Ushijima’s father waiting by our door when I finally came home. Seeing me, he raised a hand and grinned. 

“Good timing! I was just thinking to go if nobody was home.” His beaming smile belied the depressing connotation of the term ‘middle-aged’. Well, Takashi-san’s lived most of his life overseas and that probably shaped his laidback nature, quite uncommon in Japan even for people in my age group. He moved back to Japan two years ago and have gotten into the habit to drop by from time to time after he found out that I’m also living with Ushijima.

I told him I was sorry, I was out for a walk, Ushijima was still at practice and wouldn’t be home until evening later—while I unlocked the door, laid out a pair of slippers, and prepared some Hojicha.

“Oh I’m fine, don’t bother. Just dropped by to see how things were going.”

I tensed up. Like what things? Ushijima’s mother was rather indifferent about me living in Ushijima’s place, freeloading by looks of it. His dad, on the other hand, had had some reservations, and here he was in our living room. Although, it seemed more so that he had a little inkling on how I see his son.

“You know what, I think I like this place,” he said. We had just recently moved into this two-story house that Ushijima had just bought after getting sick of moving around leased homes since he got into university eleven years ago.

“Yes, I’m very grateful.” As soon as the words escape my mouth, I thought, _‘wow, there’s servility in you.’_

“So you’ve gone ahead with it,” Takashi-san suddenly cut to the point. “You know, it’s when I think of you that I feel terrible.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t feel that way, really. I’m happy. My parents are grateful too.”

“Because they don’t know.”

Here it comes, I thought, the question of the other medical report: _Our tests indicate that you are HIV negative._

Luckily I caught myself in time before blurting out, “True, Ushiwa– Wakatoshi didn’t know, my parents didn’t know, but for my part…,” I couldn’t very well tell him that his son was one of the factors putting my ‘ _post-surgery depression and anxiety_ ’ in check. Me _loving_ him was a secret. _  
_

“Caring for him? Must be like embracing water.”

When he said this, I felt a cool, rustling presence at my back. I didn’t have to turn around to figure out what it was. I spoke loud and clear so the tree could hear too. 

“It’s okay. I never really liked sex that much anyway.”

Takashi-san seemed taken aback for a second, but soon let out a little laugh.

I seized the chance to clear the air, in a fluster I stood up and asked, “Shall I put on some music?”

I selected a playlist at random from Spotify and reached for the teapot while waiting for the Bluetooth to pair.

“Your tea’s cooled off,” I said, “let me pour you a fresh hot cup.”

Explosions of sound filled the air.

“You like opera?” Takashi-san said when I came back with the tea. “You really are an odd young man. Interesting.”

Maybe it was the loud volume that did the trick. At any rate, he left soon afterward without attempting anything more than small talk. But that expression of his, _embracing water…_ The phrase was etched on my mind for good.

 

* * *

 

It was Sunday—and Christmas Eve no less—but Ushijima was waxing the floor. I tried to help out by cleaning the windows, but Ushijima told me not to bother. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll do it later,” he said. Ushijima always did the housecleaning on Sundays. It’s one of his boring little hobbies.

“Oikawa, why don’t you go take a nap?” Ushijima was obsessive about cleanliness. He wouldn’t rest until everything in the house was clean and sparkling. 

“Maybe I’ll go polish the shoes then,” I said, but Ushijima had already done that too.

“What’s the matter?” Ushijima asked, quite puzzled, as I stood there at a loss for something to do. Sometimes he could be amazingly slow to catch on. But this was something that we’d decided on, that although I was supposed to be doing housework in exchange for the stay, whoever was better at it would be the one to do it, whether it was cleaning the house or cooking the meals or whatever.

I was feeling bored, so I got myself a bottle of white wine and went over to sit in front of a framed picture of Iwaizumi and me in high school. “Iwa-chan let’s have a drink, shall we?” I said. “Just you and me. Forget boring old Ushiwaka-chan.” Iwaizumi looked delighted by the idea.

“Oikawa.” It came out sounding like a sigh. “You can’t sit there. I’m trying to wax the floor.”

I took a sip of the chilled Australian wine. “Grumpy Ushiwaka-chan.” I had nowhere else to go. I escaped to the sofa and decided to sing. Wham!’s _Last Christmas_ was one song that I could sing in English. I sat there drinking my wine and singing my song. It was only a cheap wine, but it tasted nice and sweet. Ushijima came over and took the bottle away.

“You’re not supposed to drink it from the bottle, you know.”

Suddenly I felt extremely unhappy. 

“Give it back,” I said. 

Ushijima disappeared into the kitchen and put the wine in the refrigerator.

In protest, I started singing even louder, until my throat was sore and my eardrums started to hurt. But Ushijima didn’t relent a bit.

“Stop acting like a child,” he said.

I felt like someone directly behind me was laughing at me, but when I turned around to look it was just Atsumu’s tree, again. All of a sudden I lost my temper. I picked up the first things that came to hand—a duster and a bottle of cleaner and hurled them at the tree. I was sick of it always looking at me like that. 

“Oikawa!” Ushijima ran over and grabbed hold of me.

I felt unspeakably sad, and I started to cry out loud. There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t control myself and when I tried to stop crying I could hardly breathe. Ushijima carried me over to my bed and told me to take it easy, that I’d feel much better if I had some sleep. But his kind words just annoyed me and made me feel even worse and I continued to sob convulsively.

Eventually, I fell asleep crying. By the time I woke up, it was already evening. The apartment was spotless; there wasn’t a speck of dust left anywhere.

“Why don’t you take a bath?” Ushijima suggested.

“Let’s go out for dinner since it’s Christmas,” I said. Why did it always have to be like this? Ushijima was so kind and patient. It was kind of hard to take at times.

“Ushiwaka-chan?” Next year, I thought, I’ll cook us something special.

“What?”

“Let’s get a Christmas tree next year.”

Ushijima’s lips stretched into a small smile. 

“Well, it’s still this year, and here’s your gift,” he said, handing me a small package.

I untied the teal ribbon and unwrapped the white paper. Inside was a small silver object shaped like a lily. It was too small and delicate to be an egg beater.

“It’s a champagne stirrer,” Ushijima explained. It was for stirring up pretty little bubbles in your champagne.

“It’s wonderful,” I said. “Let’s go out and get some really good champagne and drink it tonight!” 

But Ushijima shook his head. 

“You don’t need this for good champagne.”

A stirrer for making bubbles in cheap champagne. What a neat idea for a gift! I was impressed. 

His first Christmas gift to me when we started sharing a house together had been a telescope. It was Star Wars themed and it came in a huge box with millennium falcon printed wrappers. It’s now sitting on the veranda, very well-used. The second gift was those glow in the dark stars after I told him how I loved them growing up even well into my late teen years. And last year he gave me a kaleidoscope. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it. I found it one day in a stationery shop where I was shopping for notebooks, and he bought it for me on the spot. He always knew what to get me.

“You like it?”

“Of course I do”

Then I remembered something. Something terrible.

It was Christmas and I didn’t have anything for Ushijima. I hadn’t even given it a thought.

“So what do you feel like eating?” He asked. 

“Um, Ushiwaka-chan? I got you a garden system from Kickstarter that tracks your plant’s conditions, but because it’s the end of year and everything, they told me it might not get here on time…” I was surprised at how smoothly the lie came out.

“Really?” Ushijima’s eyes shone. He really was the sort of man that took people at their word. 

How many people would be having dinner out tonight, I wondered. 

But that doesn’t matter. I felt so contented to just be there sitting beside Ushijima in our living room with Atsumu’s tree and framed Iwa-chan. All of us there together. 


	2. Wakatoshi

Oikawa was still on the phone—unusual for him. True, he wasn’t the one doing the talking and he’d probably have hung up a while ago if he could have. Oikawa hated the phone. Very surprisingly. He always said how it sounded insincere as if everyone was preoccupied on something else when speaking over the phone.

“You should call him, Wakatoshi-kun.” Atsumu used to tell me and in the beginning, I called Oikawa pretty often. When I say in the beginning, I mean when the first time Oikawa showed up at one of our practices looking for me, looking like he had just braved through an apocalypse. Before we moved in together, obviously. According to Atsumu, all people who seemed clingy by trait were secret agents in the employ of the telephone company. But whenever I spoke to Oikawa on the phone, he always sounded irritated.

“Maybe we should talk about this phone thing,” he said one day.

“What phone thing?” I said looking down at the one hundred yen coin I was holding in my hand. It was a rainy night, and I was calling him from some bar with a Mexican theme.

“I mean, don’t feel like you have to keep calling me all the time,” he said. “Anyways, you don’t really like talking on the phone either do you, Ushiwaka-chan?”

I had to admit that he was right. “No. How did you know?” I looked over at Atsumu who was sitting at the bar drinking with his back to me. I vowed then never to heed his theories about people again.   


“Wanna drink?” A glass was thrust in front of my face. Oikawa’s long phone conversation had come to an end and I hadn’t noticed.

“What’s this?”

“It’s called a Silver Streak—gin and kummel.”

It was clear like nihonshu. I took a sip just to be polite and gave it back to Oikawa. Drinking was one habit Oikawa picked up since he injured himself that I disapprove of but will keep quiet so long as it’s in moderation.

“Seems like Iwa-chan is having mother-in-law problems.”

“Oh?” Iwaizumi, the ace of Seijoh, capable volleyball player, reliable orthopaedist for Oikawa and also Oikawa’s best friend from childhood. His one and only friend, according to Oikawa. I smiled because I know that’s not true, he was still very much in touch with his other friends from Seijoh and Todai. And myself, I hope.

Firm and mature, Iwaizumi was so wildly different from Oikawa that the many times I had seen them together the strangeness of their attempts at communication had been pretty engrossing and I daresay entertaining. It usually ended up with Iwaizumi calling Oikawa a funny name.

“I guess most mothers-in-law are impossible,” Oikawa said. Then he added, “Well your mom is pretty nice if not too stern,” with such sincerity that I felt a little bad.

At long last, her awkward gay son has a friend or two other than his boyfriend. It was proper that his mother should be nice to those who would be there for him. I couldn’t help but felt a little bad for Atsumu who was rather intimidated by her the one time they met. “Well, isn’t your mom a tough nut to crack,” he tried to joke at the time, but I remember the nervousness laced in his tone.

Suddenly, a cushion came flying across the room and hit me in the face. I looked up to find Oikawa sitting on the sofa, his lips drawn tightly together into a straight line. 

"You're not listening."

Oikawa's always quick to start throwing things around. 

"Sorry. We were talking about Iwaizumi, right?"

"Yeah, and tomorrow I'm supposed to go over to his place. I might be a little late. Is that fine?" I said it was fine.

"Want me to pick you up around ten?"

Oikawa shook his head and looked me straight in the eye. 

"Why don't you go see 'Tsumu-chan for a change?" His tone was serious as if we were discussing something important. "I bet he really misses you." Atsumu's six years younger than me and he's still in university working hard to get drafted into the national men's team so we don't get to be on the same training regime a lot.

It was a strange feeling, a good friend worrying about his friend's lover. A friend who used to be very much in love with the former in the past. 

"Atsumu is not the sort to feel lonely. But thanks for being so thoughtful.

"Alright." Persuaded, Oikawa smiled and finished off what was left of his cocktail.  


 

* * *

 

My mother called me during practice the next day. I had just finished my morning rounds and was having a cup of hot chocolate at the cafe upstairs. 

“How is everything going?” She asked.

“The practices have been going fine.” It’s rare that she would call me. Normally if she needed to talk to me she would drop by my place in person, which was not often, but I knew why she did. She had something she wanted to discuss. Not with Oikawa around but just with me. “How’s grandmother?”

“Oh, she’s fine. She misses you a lot, you should come and visit her one of these days.” My mother was skilled in sticking a knife where it hurts and twists it to make one goes her way with her words. “How’s Oikawa-san?”

“Fine,” I said nothing more as I waited for her to get around to whatever it was she wanted to say.

“The house is so empty without you,” she said sadly. For some reason, I could feel her shoulders sag along as she speaks. “It’s so cold this winter…”

“It _is_ cold,” I agreed. “There’s something going around too, so be careful,” I said.

“Is that so? Because my throat does feel a little sore.” I’m not sure if it’s because of age but I’m not used to this version of mother sounding so vulnerable and maybe just a tad bit lonely. Perhaps I really should visit her and grandmother one of these days. 

“I’m sure grandmother can make you something.” My grandmother was a herbalist and growing up she had always made sure to brew up some of her outrageously bitter concoctions that were apparently _good_ for my growth. “What was it you really wanted to talk to me about?” I spoke first to help her along, since she seemed to be having so much trouble getting to the point. 

“Wakatoshi, you know you’re turning thirty this year,” she said, voice low and careful. I have a hunch where the conversation is going already.

“Yes, and?” 

“And why are you still living with Oikawa-san?” 

“Mother, we've been through this before, Oikawa is an important friend and he needs my help right now."

"I know the poor boy had a lot on his plate but don't you think you should maybe consider going separate ways? You're already thirty..." Turning thirty suddenly became thirty. "Have you thought of maybe meeting someone and say—starting a family?" With a practice match scheduled later, I really couldn't be bothered to point out how I'm still very much in a sturdy relationship with Atsumu and have no intention of meeting anyone else otherwise. I bit back the urge to heave a sigh into the phone. 

"Sorry to disappoint you, mother, but as I've told you before I am currently focusing on my career and haven't planned anything of that sort in the near future."

"Well, it's just not normal to start too late in life, Wakatoshi." Things that are different always seemed to distress her. 

I gulped down the last of my chocolate and said, "I'll think about it, mother," and chuck the paper cup into the trash bin by the elevator. "I'll let you know as soon as I come up with any decision. If and when." 

The line went silent and I could hear her disappointment through the phone. But then I heard a sigh and a defeated 'okay'.

"I'll come to visit you and grandmother soon. Please drop by sometimes too, you haven't been to the new house, have you? I'm sure Oikawa would love to see you again, too." 

"I'll come to visit very soon, and come home anytime—grandmother would be pleased," she said.  "Wakatoshi." Then came her trump card. "Don't forget, you're my only son."  


The phone disconnected into an off-hook tone before I could object. I stood there and the floor lamp going up and down but never stopping at my floor. I heaved a heavy sigh. 

I pressed the elevator button and dialed Atsumu's phone number by memory. He should be having a break from practice around the same time and if not I figured I'll just drop him a voicemail. As I called I thought, _“Funny Oikawa told me to call him. I want to see him tonight like I haven’t in a while.”_

 

* * *

 

I got home to find Oikawa singing to himself again. Well, actually, not quite to himself. He was singing to the framed Iwaizumi photo perched on the wall amongst others. _Hologram_ seemed to be the song of the day. He’s kind of quirky like that sometimes, my housemate.

“Hi, I’m home.”

I loved the look on Oikawa’s face when he turned around to welcome me home. First, a look of complete surprise spread over his features, as if to say, I never even dreamed you would come home, followed by a slow smile. Ah, now I remember, it seemed to say. His reaction filled me with a sense of relief every time. I know his insecurities and anxiety post-injury seemed to demand some degree of attention from me time and again. But this person here was not counting the hours and minutes until I came home. 

“How was Iwaizumi?” I asked, taking off my coat. 

“Iwa-chan’s better than I thought he’d be.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“I asked him to come over for the Bean-Throwing Day on Saturday. The wife and kid are coming too.”

"Bean-Throwing Day?"

"It's the  _Setsubun._ February 3rd."

Traditional holidays that called for festive behavior were really big with Oikawa. In fact, one of the few times I tasted his cuisine was when he made that Thanksgiving turkey last year. Chopping and stuffing herbs clumsily, he had told me that age-old customs were quite romantic in his opinion. 

“It’s that time of the year already, huh?” I said.

“And you’re playing the _oni_ , okay Ushiwaka-chan?” This was spoken in a tone that left no room for discussion.

 

* * *

 

I was in the bath when Oikawa came through the door, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He was still in his clothes. 

“Tell me a story about ‘Tsumu-chan.”

“What kind of story?” Nothing impeded my past crush when he felt bored.

“Any kind.”

I thought about it for a while, until I remembered a story that wouldn’t take too long to tell. While I was in the tub, Oikawa stood in the washing area; when I got out to rinse myself off, he sat on the edge of the tub and listened quietly to my story.

"Few people love pranks more than Atsumu. And for him, friends aren’t interesting targets. He has to choose a victim from the innocent general populace. He’s got a whole variety of pranks and they’re all innocuous, but one that I really liked is pulled off at the movies. He finds someplace where they’re showing a real tearjerker—say about parted lovers of a terminally ill little boy—and sits right next to someone he judges to be a big weeper for these things. It might be a college girl on a cute date with her cute boyfriend. It might be a young woman who’s dressed as she might work at a day-care center. And then, just when she’s about to start crying when tears are beginning to fill her eyes, Atsumu sneezes. And it’s a serious sneeze we’re talking about. And the poor girl lost her chance _‘to let it all come out’._ So she ends up with a runny nose and this contorted look on her face.”

Suddenly I could picture it, and a smile formed on my lips. Atsumu was a prankster with true flair. 

“Why would he want to do something like that?” Oikawa’s expression was stern.

“I don’t know,” I said. Atsumu hated pity and made fun of people who wept in public. “That’s just the way he is,” I said, rinsing myself off in the shower. Atsumu had zero tolerance for people who never asked themselves if some of their own acts might not be more embarrassing than being gay.

 

* * *

There’s nothing like a drink of Evian just after you get out of the bath. You can feel the pureness of the water spreading through your whole body. It makes me feel cleansed, purified, all the way to my fingertips. I went out on the veranda and gulped the water down noisily.

“I hate the bottles your Evian comes in,” Oikawa said. He was bundled up in a blanket, his hands around a hot glass of whiskey. “You want to share the blanket? You’ll catch a chill if you’re not careful.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “It feels good.” 

I tinkered with the garden system on my planter. It was a gift from Oikawa. 

“The thing I don’t like about Evian bottles is that weird flimsiness. It doesn’t feel like a bottle at all,” he said while he stood up and looked through the telescope. He motioned at me to do the same and proceeded to explain the light of Rigel, reaching us from nine hundred lightyears away through the telescope. Procyon from eleven, and Capella from forty.I smiled as I looked up through the telescope at a small, neatly trimmed patch of sky—the outer space was something that Oikawa was passionate about apart from volleyball and I’m glad he still has this. Within my round, cut-out section of the universe, more stars than I could fathom were twinkling and shining. I rubbed my eyes, dazzled by the stars.

“I’ll go heat up the bed for you,” he announced and disappeared into the bedroom. I liked watching Oikawa’s back while he ironed the sheets. It was weird. He took it so seriously. All he needed to do was warm up the bed a bit, but he insisted on ironing out every last crease and wrinkle he could find until the whole bed looked incredibly crisp. 

“Oikawa”

“What,” he said, smiling and tilting his head to one side. 

“You remember what we decided when we moved in together?”

“What,” Oikawa said again. “We decided on heaps of things, Ushiwaka-chan. What are you talking about?”

“About lovers.”

“You mean ‘Tsumu-chan?”

“No,” I said. “I mean yours.”

His face clouded over. “If you’re talking about Tobio-chan, we broke things off completely. I’ve already told you that before.”

“But you’re free to see other people. That’s what we said.”

“And if I bring a guy home every night, it’s not gonna bother you?” Oikawa asked, a bit provoking. I felt a lump stuck in my throat, I haven't really thought of how I’d feel if he started seeing someone but it’s unfair for Oikawa if he doesn’t search for his happiness just because it might invade my privacy? Or maybe just a little uncomfortable for me? I hate myself for thinking in this selfish way and can’t help the little guilt that swelled inside. 

“Just being with you is good enough for me, Ushiwaka-chan,” he said teasingly and pulled the plug out of the outlet. “Go ahead, it’s ready,” he said, turning around to face me. “You can get into bed now.”

 

* * *

 

I closed my eyes but couldn’t fall asleep. I tossed and turned for a while but eventually gave up. When I opened my eyes, I could see the faint light coming in from the tiny gaps between the door frame. I looked at the clock. It was past one already. “You still up?” I hollered. I threw on a sweater and opened my bedroom door, making my way downstairs. Oikawa was in the living room. I could feel the tension in the air and I knew right away that he was feeling depressed. The bright light dazzled my eyes and I blinked my way over to where Oikawa was sitting on a cushion, hunched over a table drawing something quietly and intently on a piece of paper. 

“What are you doing?” I asked as casually as I could and I glanced over at the whiskey bottle. What had started off the night three quarters was now down to a third. 

Oikawa was making an _oni_  mask. The red devil had horns growing out of its head. He was doing its sharp zigzagged teeth when I looked. 

“That’s pretty good.” 

Oikawa didn’t respond. His next move would be one of two things. Either he would throw something, or he would burst into tears. 

I felt helpless every time this happens.

Suddenly the hand holding the crayon stopped moving and without a sound, Oikawa began to cry. Huge teardrops welled up in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. From time to time, he let out a pained sob.

“Oikawa.”

Oikawa covered his face with his hands and moaned quietly, and then started bawling like a child. He was saying something in between his sobs, but I couldn’t make out what it was. “I can’t understand what you’re saying, Oikawa. Calm down and tell me slowly.” There was nothing I could do but to be patient and wait. I knew trying to touch him or hug him would only make things worse. I crouched down beside him. Oikawa kept on crying for a very long time. In between sniffles and sobs, I could make out a few words. He seemed to be accusing me of something. “Ushiwaka-chan… Lovers…” But I couldn’t make out what he was getting at. I practically dragged him into the bedroom and pushed him into bed. 

“Good night.”

Oikawa was still looking at me accusingly with teary eyes. His face was red and swollen. I reached out a finger and touched his hot and puffy eyelid. “Okay. I won’t talk about lovers, ever,” I said sadly and left his bedroom, resuming my sleepless night.

 

* * *

 

 

The Bean-Throwing party turned out to be a huge success. Iwaizumi was as lively as ever, his wife—the tiny manager from Karasuno, was as cheerful as he remembered and was pleasant throughout the occasion. And their young son, Jun, looked bigger every time I saw him. “How old are you now?” I asked him, and before I’d even finished my question, he held up three stubby fingers in front of my face and waved them about clumsily in the air. Then we started the bean-throwing rite, I put on the  _oni_ mask that Oikawa had made and everyone else started throwing beans at me all the while shouting, “Demons out! Luck in!” It was not a very fun experience to have roasted beans thrown at and it actually hurts. A lot. 

After the party, we sat down for some beer. Oikawa insisted that we all eat the beans corresponding to our ages, so we counted them out, one by one, and made sure that everyone ate the right amount, like it or not. No doubt when we were eighty Oikawa would insist on eating exactly eighty beans. As I chewed on the beans, I tried to picture Oikawa at eighty, wrinkled and frail.

It was a strange feeling. Suddenly our inanimate little home was alive with human energy, and Oikawa and I were both starting to feel a bit restless and uncomfortable. It was creepy to think that all the energy and vitality was coming from one, small family. Jun bouncing up and down on the sofa and rattling the blinds open and shut, his young parents following carefully out of the corner of their eyes, ready to leap up and bring him under control the moment he got out of hand. We sat and watched the toons on TV with the kid, ate the delivery _Setsubun_ package, and drank our beer.

* * *

 

“Children are such troublesome creatures,” Oikawa said a tinge of exhaustion as he poured cold tea into the potted plant Atsumu had given us. Oikawa was convinced that the plant relished the tea he kept feeding it. He claimed the tree shook its leaves with pleasure every time he gave it tea. 

“Ten o’clock already, huh?” He said.

Ten o’clock. It was around eight-thirty when our guests had finally gone clattering out of the house, so Oikawa must have been sitting there glaring at the plant for nearly an hour and a half now.

_“How long are you going to keep sitting there like that?”_ I was about to ask him but he beat me to it. 

“Ushiwaka-chan, do you realise you’ve been cleaning the house for an hour and a half now?”

“But there’s fingerprints and stains everywhere—on the tables, the windows, the TV, all over the floor… On the phone…” Oikawa was giving me a strange look. “But you’ve been at it ever since they left. It’s not normal.”

But you’ve been at it ever since they left, it’s not normal, I repeated after him silently while stroking my chin. I looked at him in the eyes and said, “We’d make a pretty good couple, you know, you and me. Like two peas in a pod.”

“Eh? What’s that supposed to mean?” Oikawa said. “I don’t think we’re alike at all. Ushiwaka-chan is boring," he continued with a pout.

“You want a drink?” I asked.

“Hmm—a double,” he said. I got a bottle and some cucumbers and went out onto the veranda. I decided not to mention the conversation I’d had with my mother. 

“You want some cheese?” Oikawa shouted from the kitchen. 

“Sounds good,” I called back, looking out across the vast fabric of nighttime sky. I bit into a cucumber and felt its fresh taste fill my mouth as I looked up at the stars.


	3. Tooru

I had a dream about an old boyfriend of mine. He looked the same as ever, his eyebrows knit together and a serious look on his face. He had on an oversized gray sweater he often used to wear back in college and he was carrying a paper bag in his hands.

"Oikawa-san," he said. He always said my name really mechanically. "I can't go on without you." The furrow between his brows deepened. "I'm sorry I said such horrible things," he mumbled, biting his bottom lip. "Look, Oikawa-san, I brought you some of those macarons you like so much." 

Macarons from Morozoff, I thought to myself in my dream. "What flavor are they?" I asked.

My old boyfriend smiled. "Your favorite, of course: milk and honey."

Milk and honey macarons! Suddenly, I felt a whole lot better about everything. 

It was nine-twenty when I woke up and Ushijima was already gone. When I wandered into the living room in my pajamas, I could smell coffee. The living room looked spick-and-span as always and the heater was clanking away in the corner. I pressed the play button on the sound system and soft low-volume music began to filter through the room. Suddenly I became uneasy. I felt as though Ushijima was never going to come home again. Maybe he had never existed, to begin with. The room was unnaturally bright. The background music sounded morbidly clear. Nothing felt real.

I was desperate to hear Ushijima's voice again. It was all his fault that I had that dream about Kageyama. Ushijima was the one who had brought up the subject. All the worry and fear I had been keeping bottled up inside of me came gushing up my throat and I could feel myself on the verge of tears. 

"Hello?" A woman picked up on the second ring. She spoke the name of the training center in a cold, distant voice. 

"I'd like to speak with Ushijima Wakatoshi, men's volleyball, please." I had tried to call Ushijima but he had not picked up the phone.

"I'm sorry, I'm not authorized to put you through with the players. May I know your reason for calling?"

"I'm Oikawa Tooru, former player. I need to speak with Ushijima, it's pressing, please."

"One moment please." 

She put me on hold, and  _O Vreneli_ came on in the background. I felt as though someone was making fun of me. Then the music stopped and the woman's voice came back on. "I'm sorry, he hasn't come in yet."

I got dressed hurriedly and grabbed my messenger bag, and then went out. I could feel the sunshine and the dust in the air. I had to take three different buses before I go to the training center. (Actually, you were only supposed to change once, but the bus routes and timetables were so complicated that it was impossible to get the transfers right.) I looked out the window and watched the scenery crawl by. A few family restaurants, office buildings, and a mayonnaise factory. 

Kageyama and I broke up not long after I moved in with Ushijima. Let's not see each other anymore, he had said desolately. (Actually, that's the way he looked all of the time. I used to love the cloud of sadness that seemed to brood over his forehead.)

"Oikawa-san," he said. "Your wildness is one of the things that appeal to me about you, but beyond a certain point, I just can't keep up with you. It's my fault, really."

I still don't have a clue what he was trying to say. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized. I remember the way his forehead looked as he bowed his head, pain, and suffering carved into the creases between his brows. 

The training center was a huge squarish building with a huge compound for other sports facilities. It's been a while since I've been here, the nice receptionist who used to work has left. I asked the nurse at the reception for Ushijima. She picked up the phone without even looking at me. "One moment, please," she said. And then, "Name please?"

"Oikawa Tooru," I told her. The receptionist gave me a quick look up and down and flashed me a ridiculously overdone grin. She pointed to the sofa and told me to have a seat. 

I felt sick. I sat down on the synthetic green sofa and stared blankly at the bright lobby. Natural light filtered in from the windowpanes, the lobby was lacking visitors save for me, and a bright shiny vending machine stood in one corner that looked like it had found its way here by mistake. There was a humid sickly smell of plants and a few large framed pictures of athletes from various fields in their best moments that were enough to make me feel ill. And this was where Ushijima worked. Where I used to work.

I realized never once in my professional volleyball career have I actually spent any time lounging in the lobby here. 

"Oikawa?" Suddenly, there he was in front of me, with his beautiful clear eyes, and his neat olive brown hair: my most important person. "What's up? You've never dropped by like this before."

I stood up. I wanted to tell Ushijima everything: the dream about Kageyama, the way I had suddenly been so desperate to come and see him, about how I got all confused with the buses, how the receptionist had been mean to me, how lonely and uneasy I had felt waiting for him in the lobby. But I don't know where to start. 

"Oikawa?"

"I want to go home," I managed to say at last. But this didn't seem to strike Ushijima as sensible. 

"I'm going home because I want to go home." I felt better now that I had seen his face and somehow managed to elaborate that much. 

"Well, I guess I won't keep you," Ushijima said. He sounded a bit confused. 

"Hey, is that Oikawa-senpai?" I heard someone bellow behind me. When I turned around, I saw a man with these bushy eyebrows. He was slightly shorter than Ushijima and his eyes turned into what were slits when he smiles. Then I realized how handsome Ushijima look as compared to this man. He seemed nice though.

"I'm Motoya Komori. Libero. I saw you once briefly during the Rio Olympics preparation, I believe. I just recently join the starters."

I didn't remember ever seeing him, but I smiled anyway and said hello.

"Well, what a surprise. I never expected to see you here," he said, a little too loudly.

True, I had stopped dropping by the training center or even follow volleyball since my retirement. In fact, I tend to avoid them.

"Ushijima-senpai's so secretive! He could have invited you to join the get-togethers, at least." It's an open secret that I'm living with Ushijima. "I only started training with the team about three years ago and was so excited to meet you. All I've heard were hearsays about you."

"Ah." I didn't know what to say. As a matter of fact, I had never met any of Ushijima's current teammates except for Bokuto and Kuroo. Well, and Kageyama. I did try to avoid volleyball and Kageyama, true, but not having met the new members of the team was a bit strange indeed. I'd never even come to join Ushijima and the rest on their team gatherings yet —and it's not uncommon for retired members to join in on one of those. 

"Komori-chan?" 

"Yes?" This guy smiled a lot.

"Nice to meet you at last," I said, "and I do hope you'll come over and see us before long." As soon as the words came out of my mouth, a strange feeling swept over me. I felt like I'm Ushijima's wife or something. I could see Ushijima was ready to sigh.

Outside, on the other side of the automatic doors, I could see the bright rays of sunshine.

"Okay, take care getting home then. And don't forget, you have to take the #4 bus and change to #1 when you see the big office building."

"Okay. Thanks," I said as I started off down the road.

"You sure there wasn't something you wanted to talk about?" Ushijima called after me. 

I waved my hand as I walked away to say, "Nope—nothing at all."

 

* * *

 

After my bath, I got out a can of tomato juice from the refrigerator and took a sip.

"When should we have people over?" I asked, slicing up a baguette. Ushijima was stirring the stew.

"Not for a while yet, I think," he said.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Just because."

"Don't you like Komori-chan?" I asked, nibbling at the slice I had just buttered. "I like him. He's a nice guy."

"Hmm."

Then, I thought, there's only one possible reason he's reluctant to invite anyone over. Ushijima doesn't want any of his friends to meet me. "Let me know when the stew's ready," I said. I went into the living room and fed what was left of my tomato juice to Atsumu's tree.

"Here, try this," I said. "It tastes like blood." 

It made sense, I supposed. A mentally unstable, alcoholic, overly-dependent housemate wasn't really something you want to show off to the whole world. 

"You sure it's okay giving tomato juice like that?" Ushijima said from the kitchen.

"It's good for it. Full of nutrition." I put in some ice in a glass and poured vodka over it, and then mixed it with Kahlua. The inky dark liquid looked like poison and it suited my mood perfectly. I took a book of poetry down from Ushijima's bookshelf and flipped through it. It wasn't in the least bit interesting. 

"Tell me more about 'Tsumu-chan," I shouted in the direction of the kitchen. There was silence for a while. Finally, he asked back, "what kind of story would you like?"

"Tell me about when you have sex."

There was no reply. I shouted the same words and Ushijima came out into the living room, a wooden spoon still in his hand. 

"What's wrong? You're in a bad mood," he said quietly.

"Tell me about when you and 'Tsumu-chan have sex."

"Okay," he said a bit carefully. For a while, he looked as if he were really thinking about it. "Well, he has a really straight back and... he smells like coke."

I was looking straight ahead, at the side of Ushijima's face.

"He has a tan the whole year round and he's got narrow hips. And... Well, his hips smell like coke, too."

Like coke? And then he mumbled something under his breath that sounded like "and that's all." Before I could complain, he disappeared into the kitchen to check on the stew.

Dinner was over in no time. Neither of us spoke a word.

"Hey." Ushijima was having a cup of coffee in the living room. 

Suddenly he got up and moved a book around his shelf.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said and smiled at me gently.

"What do you mean, nothing?" I said, annoyed. "That was the book I was just reading, right? If you want to tell me not to touch your books, or to ask you first, why don't you just go ahead and speak up instead of pretending like it doesn't matter?"

"All right," he said, admitting it. "But you're allowed to read whatever you want. It's just I have a system. Here, let me show you. It's pretty simple. All the French literature goes here. Alain Bousquet, Andre Breton, Raymond Queneau... Spanish literature comes over here. Well, I only have this one Lorca, but anyway... There's the Italian literature and there's the German literature..."

"Okay, that's enough, I get the idea," I said. "And then when you take one off the shelf, you put a little marker in its place to mark the spot, right?"

"That's a not bad idea," Ushijima said.

It annoyed me that Ushijima didn't seem to notice the sarcastic nature of my suggestion. "I guess it's not surprising you don't invite people over, is it? When your housemate can't even manage to keep your books in order on the shelf..."

"Oikawa," Ushijima sighed. It always made me sad when Ushijima looked me straight in the eye like that. I always had to look away when he fixed those kinds of eyes of his on me. I settled walking over to set up the telescope on the veranda.

"You know, Motoya," Ushijima said as he watered his plants. "Motoya was very inspired by the Rio game." 

At first, I didn't understand what he meant by saying that. 

"I think he regards the team that time as an inspiration. That's why he's so interested in you. He's a skilled player that always strives to be better."

"Hmm..." I said as I look through the telescope.

"He can get intense when he starts talking about all the different players. Their good, their shortcoming. Although, over the years I've come to learn that you can't categorize people so easily. Not like books on a shelf." 

I held back a chuckle, reminiscing how stuck-up Ushijima was in high school. Back then he would always tell me that I should've gone to Shiratirizawa, the winning team—everywhere else are the losing side. Ah, but now he became this dependable guy who was actually considering my sentiments. 

"I had a dream about Tobio-chan this morning," I said as I turned to face Ushijima.

"What kind of dream?"

"A really nice one." 

Ushijima smiled. 

"But it's not my fault," I said. "It's your fault. You were the one who brought up boyfriends."

"You need a boyfriend too, Oikawa."

I said I didn't want one and Ushijima looked really sad. 

"But I can't do anything for you," he retorted.

I didn't say anything.

"Let's invite Komori-chan over. And Tettsun. And Kou-chan. And 'Tsumu-chan, too. We can have a little party." Ushijima was silent. "And hey, next time you feel like buying me something," I said, "get me some macarons. The ones from Morozoff. Milk and honey flavor." 

"I'll buy some tomorrow," Ushijima said and smiled wistfully. 

I dragged Atsumu's tree out onto the veranda with us. It looked like it was enjoying the night breeze sweeping over its leaves. "Night." I went inside first, thinking that Ushijima might want some time to himself. I ironed his bed. It was fine to have a relationship like ours. You didn't expect much, you didn't wish for much. You didn't lose anything, there was nothing to be afraid of. Suddenly, I remembered Takashi-san's words.

Embracing water.

"It's ready!" I shouted. I pulled the blanket back over the bed and pulled the plug out of the outlet, turning toward my room. I closed my eyes and breathed in slowly. In the dark, a star-filled sky rolled open like a bed of jewels.


	4. Wakatoshi

"You'll burn a hole in your stomach, drinking all that coffee," Kuroosaid.

"Right, thanks for the warning," I said, pouring out my fifth cup. Just thinking about the night ahead was enough to give me ulcers.

Atsumu’s stubbornness exasperated me. I was practically begging him, but he didn't budge an inch. All I was asking him to do was to pretend he couldn't make the party.

"Mm-hmm," Atsumu’s voice came through the receiver. Laughter. "You want me to stay away that bad, huh?"

"Don't get me wrong. It's partly that Motoya and others are coming too. You never liked them much."

"Oh yeah?"

"We'll have you over some other time. I promise."

“Missing a housewarming is fine“ Atsumu threw out as casually as ever, "but I don't like this."

Weren't we the ones who had invited him, after all? "I know. That's why I'm begging you."

Atsumu’s face was aglow. I didn't need to see him to tell, the phone line could not but transmit such smugness.

"I'm not coming if you don't want me to, but make sure your housemate knows exactly why. Some misgiving of yours, not mine, will be responsible for my absence." Atsumu was clearly enjoying himself.

"Seven o'clock, right?" He told me to say my prayers, had a good laugh and hung up.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa had been in unusually high spirits when I left home that morning. "I'll get us some _inari_ sushi and sushi rolls and chips and veggies and ice cream, so can you pick up fried chicken on your way home? That should be enough."

"Sounds like the menu for a kid's birthday party."

Oikawa agreed and laughed happily. "Tonight at seven," he double-checked for one last time as he walked me to the door. "Oh, and…” he added, his voice suddenly flat, "I'll be ready to go out on a moment's notice if and when you feel like it. Don't worry about that."

"About what?" It took me three seconds to get it. “Oikawa, don't be so absurd." It was too much.

My relationship with Atsumu was mixed up in his mind with perversion.

"We're not sex maniacs, you know," I explained, weirdly flustered. Having to spell things out was nearly making me blush. "Listen, Oikawa. A few friends are getting together for dinner, that's all. You don't have to concern yourself with anything like that."

His thin eyebrows knit close, he heard this out meekly.

"Now I see," he said, and nodded slowly, as to a profound thought.

I stopped by Meiji-ya for some fried chicken and picked up Osamu at Hiro-o intersection. A brain surgeon in training at a university hospital in the neighborhood, Miya Osamu was Atsumu’s twin brother. A splitting image of Atsumu that still unnerves me at times. He carries a mellow air to him which was the only thing that differentiated the two.

"Are you sure I can come too?" Osamu asked as he got into the car.

Sitting shotgun was Motoya, the last person a driver would ever want there. Not happy with merely fidgeting, Motoya made infuriating clinking noises with the seat belt once every three minutes, buckling or unbuckling. The radio he tuned constantly, changing stations as soon as a song ended. Adding to all the noise was his running commentary—telling me not to drive too close, making sure I had seen a speed limit sign.

"Maybe I'll bring him a cake instead," he said, biting on his nails. "Is Oikawa-senpai a sweet tooth?"

"He is." He was not a bad guy but he has got some bad habits. "You're not spitting out that bit of nail in my car."

"'Course not," Motoya said and turned red. Motoya was easily flustered in quiet settings and blushed immediately when he was.

"Is there a bakery near your place?"

"Yeah."

"Can we stop by on the way? Watch, light's gonna change." I know, I told him. We arrived home just to bump into Bokuto and Kuroo at the doorstep and to find some guests had arrived early: Oikawa’s parents, and Atsumu. The idea of them bunched together—it gave me a chill.

"You're late!" Oikawa accused. The clock told seven sharp.

You're late, you're late, you're late,he muttered the words over and over like a chant, glaring hard at me and the freshly arrived guests. Osamu and Motoya quailed at this. Bokuto and Kuroo sniggered. 

"Sorry, we arrived early!" Oikawa’s mother piped.

I could feel Motoya tense up next to me and blush to the tips of his ears. Whenever Motoya was confronted with an "older person" (that's to say, anybody above forty leading a standard family life), he felt intimidated and clammed up. "Man, he's autistic." The remark was Atsumu's, who continued, "So I guess seven was it, huh? I don't know how I got that wrong!" The brazen liar laughed innocently. "I could have sworn we had said five."

I was aghast. The smell of hot fried chicken was meeting Oikawa's mother's perfume in our cramped living room. I felt suffocated. Chaos was in the air. "Ushijima-senpai told me you have a sweet tooth," Motoya said trying to regain his bearing, as he handed Oikawa the cake box. "Oh, thank you! You're so thoughtful." It wasn't Oikawa, but his mother who said this. I felt weak. "Well, what a gathering," said Oikawa’s father. Why was everyone being so jolly?

“Ah!” Oikawa shouted suddenly as Osamu appeared from behind me. “There’s two ‘Tsumu-chan’s!” Come to think of it, he has never met Osamu before.

“What do you mean two ‘Tsumu-chan’s, Oikawa-san, I’m hurt,” Osamu teased as he placed a hand on his chest as if he was shot right there. Mischief was something that came naturally for the twins. 

“Hah, nice try, but ‘Tsumu-chan always calls me Tooru-kun!"

"Well, it was worth a try."

"Well, you almost got me there," Oikawa said as Atsumu hollered his younger brother's name and gave him a huge bear hug. 

"All volleyball players, are you?" Oikawa’s father asked as we made to settle down at the sofa. I made the necessary introductions. "Tsumu-chan’s been telling everyone all about you, Ushiwaka-chan," Oikawa said. My fingers tingled, and I broke into a cold sweat. "Very nice, very nice!" said Oikawa’s father, thumping me on the shoulders, leaving me to wonder what was so very nice. Then he got up and said, "Well, I guess we'd better be on our way, then." His motherlooked as though she wanted to stay a little longer, but Oikawa went and got her coat, so she had no choice but to get up too.

We all got up to see them to the door. Atsumu saw them off with more warmth and energy than anybody else, but when we got back to the living room, he was the one who murmured, "Well, now we can breathe easy at last."

"Sit anywhere," I said, clearing away the tea things. Oikawa was pouring the leftover tea into the potted plant.

"Nice place you got here." Motoya was back to his usual cheerful self. So this is the study, right, and this must be the bathroom, he said, looking around the house before settling on the sofa. "Very nice, very nice."

Oikawa had made mint juleps, and he set one down in front of each of us. He placed a bottle of bourbon in the middle of the table. "Help yourselves!"

It really did feel like a children's party, what with the sushi and the fried chicken all lined up on the table. And then Oikawa brought in a huge basket overflowing with raw vegetables, and everyone's mouth dropped open. The carrots and radishes, at least, had been cut into chunks, very large chunks, but the cucumbers and lettuce hadn't been touched at all. He had rinsed them under the faucet just before carrying them in, and they were still dripping with water. "Well, don't you feel like snacking on vegetables when you're drinking?" he said, by way of excuse. I took a closer look and noticed that the basket he was serving the vegetables in was actually the kitchen strainer.

Normally Atsumu would have smiled disdainfully at this kind of behavior, but tonight he was the first to start eating. He bit into what looked like a particularly tough carrot, munching on it noisily, as Oikawa launched himself into a stick of celery. Quietly, the rest of us followed their lead. A bizarre scene. I picked off two or three lettuce leaves and nibbled at them slowly. They hardly tasted of anything at all.

"You're right to listen to what your body tells you, Oikawa-san," Osamu said, much to everybody's surprise. He hardly ever spoke unless spoken to. "Alcohol causes the body to produce a lot of acid. Vegetables are good for you, especially when you're drinking."

For the first time that evening, Oikawa was smiling with what looked like real happiness.

It was a strange evening. Bokuto and Kuroo effortlessly went into their usual antics while downing the drinks at a relentless pace. I don't know about Osamu, but Motoya and I usually never drank very much. Atsumu wasn't a big drinker either, but that night, we all gulped down the mint juleps. It was a sweet drink, much stronger than it tastes, and it really gets the appetite going. We drank a lot, and ate a lot, and talked a lot. All the worries, the anxieties, that had been nagging me all day: that Atsumu would act like his usual self, taking jabs at Oikawa; that Oikawa would become morose or lose his temper; that Bokuto and Kuroo would poke fun at our living situation—or at Oikawa, for that matter; that Motoya would overwhelm Oikawa with volleyball and study him with that morbid curiosity of his. The million or more misgivings I'd had about the party turned out to have been nothing more than imaginary fears. In fact, I had to admit that the house felt brighter, more cheerful, and more comfortable that night than ever before.

Atsumu didn't put out his claws even once. We were like a group of dorm students out of some TV sitcom. Even Motoya seemed relaxed and at ease. Osamu didn't say much, but he clearly liked Oikawa, and he gave every sign of enjoying being part of the unlikely assembly. The goofy brothers (namely Bokuto and Kuroo) were knocked out at some point and was tucked into my bed much to my dismay. As for Oikawa, he drank at his usual relentless pace but managed to keep his temper under control in a way that astonished me. He did keep breaking into a song from time to time, and at one stage took the framed Iwaizumi off the wall and put it down next to him; apart from that, there was nothing really unusual about his behavior at all. He came across as more bright and cheerful than anything else. 

"I guess I'd better get going if I'm going to make the last train."

It's hard to describe the atmosphere that descended upon the room when Atsumu spoke those words. It was as though we were kids suddenly forced to stop playing in the middle of a favorite game. There was a moment of awkwardness and embarrassment, and then an overwhelming surge of surprise and confusion that we had been feeling that way. We actually had to come back to reality. "But there's still the ice cream," Oikawa said. Too late. We were back in reality. No one wanted any dessert, and the curtain finally fell on the evening that we had felt could go on forever. Slowly we started to make our way toward the door.

It took about thirteen minutes to get to the station from our place, and it was easy to get lost if you didn't know the way, but Atsumu said he'd be fine on his own. And he was probably right; he had an uncanny sense of direction and sharply honed animal instincts. But Oikawa wouldn't take no for an answer, and we all set off together, wandering through the quiet nighttime streets in the direction of the station. We walked in silence. No one said a thing, but it wasn't awkward or strained—it was more comical than anything. We shuffled quietly through the silent streets, Oikawa at our side spooning ice cream into his mouth straight from the carton. We wound our way through deserted residential neighborhoods, not a soul in sight, the spring night warm and soft like chocolate cake.

It was Atsumu who broke the silence, as usual. We had made it as far as the little line of shops in front of the station when he stopped still.

"Actually, I think I'm gonna visit a friend," he said. "He lives right around here." 

This was the first I had ever heard of him. "Where exactly?"

"Oh, just behind the Morisuke tofu shop."

I had never seen or heard of any such place, of course, but I knew it was useless to press him any further.

"Thank you for having me, Tooru-kun," he said and then turned to leave.

Oikawa stood and waved goodbye, as Atsumu's receding form wandered off into the night.

We made sure that Motoya and Osamu made the last train and then started back. The streets were filled with throngs of people just off the last train, all hurrying home.

On our way home, we passed several convenience stores. Their doors slid open and shut as we went by, the smell of _oden_ and chinese dumplings drifting from the brightly lit interiors onto the streets outside.

"'Tsumu-chan's so silly," Oikawa said with a laugh. "As if they still have things like tofu shops these days."

"Yeah," I agreed. What was he thinking anyway, missing the last train home? I couldn't imagine a hard-up student like him taking a taxi.

"Here," said Oikawa, handing me the ice cream. "You don't want anymore?"

"I'm offering to share it with you," Oikawa said. He sounded disappointed. Most likely his hands were just getting cold from holding it so long.

"Thanks." I took the container from him. Oikawa stuck his hands in the pockets of his pants and ran through his impressions of the day, bubbling over with excitement. "They're all so nice," he said. "Especially 'Tsumu-chan. Tettsun and Kou-chan are so silly as always. And what about Komori-chan," he continued. "Weird or what, huh? He really bites his nails down to the quick."

"And then there's 'Samu-chan," Oikawa narrowed his eyes. "He kind of reminds me of a _Kannon Bodhisatva_."

I had no idea what he meant by this strange metaphor and was about to get him to explain when suddenly he grabbed hold of my arm.

"Look!" I followed his eyes to a big house with a heavy, forbidding gate. Just beyond which, in the small pool of light by the gatepost, was a doghouse. And jutting out from inside the doghouse I could see a pair of jean-clad legs. I knew right away who it was.

"'Tsumu-chan!" Oikawa called out to him through the gate, and a dog started barking from inside the doghouse. The two legs scrambled to get free, and Atsumu's back emerged, followed by his shoulders and head.

"I almost had him then," he said. "And then you guys come along and get him all excited."

"What were you doing?"

The dog came flying out after Atsumu, straining at its leash and barking like crazy. Atsumu jumped over the gate and came down next to us. "I feel like a burglar or something," he said.

The dog was still yapping away like mad, desperately trying to get close enough to sink its teeth into one of us. Any second now, the owner of the house was going to come rushing out to see what all the noise was about. We made a run for it, like real thieves. I had the ice cream in my right hand, and was holding Oikawa's hand in my left. As we ran, I could feel the mood of silliness and light-heartedness return. We ran until we couldn't hear the barking anymore and finally came to a halt. I looked over at Oikawa trying to catch his breath and saw that he was holding Atsumu's right hand in his left. Atsumu looked at me and smirked.

"Ushiwaka-chan, ice cream." Oikawa gasped, breathing hard. I handed him the crushed container. The ice cream had melted, and it was all lumpy and runny inside ("Like a McShake," said Oikawa).

"What was that about?" I tried asking Atsumu again. "That was the friend you wanted to see?"

"Asshole," he said. "I was negotiating with it. Trying to get it to let me sleep over. And guess what? Turns out the dog's gay, too."

"Really?" Oikawa asked, surprised. Atsumu nodded seriously. "Atsumu!" I said, but he just smirked at me again.

Ridiculously enough, the three of us ended up spending the night together on the floor. At first, Oikawa insisted that he take the sofa and that _"the two lovebirds"_ sleep in his bedroom, since the two idiots in my room didn't seem to be able to wake up anytime soon. Naturally, I turned down his offer right away, but Atsumu, typical Atsumu, insisted on making things difficult, shrugging his shoulders and saying he didn't care where he slept, or with whom he slept. And so in the end, we reached a compromise and decided that we'd all sleep together on the living room floor. "Feels like we're on a school trip," Oikawa said. "Anyway, it's a nice change. Kind of fun." I knew there was no way I could fall asleep like that. I can't even sleep in a strange bed. I was accustomed to freshly ironed sheets and a fresh warm blanket. My body knew every lump in the mattress. How was I supposed to be able to sleep like that, on a blanket spread out on the floor? And as if that wasn't enough, there I was with Oikawa on my left, and Atsumu on my right.

"Mom and Dad were both so happy," Oikawa said. "They both really liked Atsumu."

"Yeah?"

"He kept saying such nice things about you. My mom looked so relieved when she heard that. Like you're too good for me"

Oikawa was in a talkative mood. I could just picture Atsumu getting carried away, making up stories about me.

"You _are_ too good for me, Ushiwaka-chan," Oikawa said. "But you lost a point today. You were late. _Really_ late. I waited five hours for you. Maybe even six."

"No, you did not." It was clearly hyperbole. His parents' early arrival must have been really taxing. "I can feel rain!" Oikawa jumped up and ran over to the window. "See, what did I tell you? It is raining! It was so humid, I knew it was going to rain."

He went into the kitchen, and I heard him open a can of beer. "You want one?" he asked.

"No thanks, I've had enough."

"What about 'Tsumu-chan?" When there was no answer, he asked again. "What about 'Tsumu-chan?"

"He's asleep." I looked over at his face as he slept, so peaceful and calm, and couldn't help smiling to myself. I mean, really. What was it like inside that head of his?

Oikawa was standing by the window guzzling his beer. I could smell the rain coming in on the breeze.

 

 


	5. Tooru

Ushijima's friends came over quite often after that. (His teammates only ever came at night, Osamu came only on the weekends when we were sure to be home, but Atsumu always came in the afternoon, when Ushijima wasn't around.) They all like you a lot, Ushijima told me. I liked them, too, so I was happy to hear that. Ushijima was still as kind to me as ever, and three years into living together— four since I’d went and see him post-injury—we still hadn't had a single real fight. What's the phrase they use, ‘smooth sailing’? Well, that's what it was. But even so, for some reason, I seemed to be in a really bad mood all the time. I couldn't tell you why myself.

I was always being mean to Ushijima. Once a day at least I'd say something hurtful, something bitchy, maybe a sarcastic joke. Spring gave way to summer, and soon it was June, but my mean moods just kept getting worse. It was almost as though nice weather fouled up my mood. I was at my worst on beautiful summer days, when a fresh breeze blew under the shining sun. June has always been a difficult month for me. Suddenly there's brightness and color everywhere, and the whole world's waking up and bursting back into life again. Inside the apartment too, Atsumu’s tree was getting bigger and stronger every day.

"You busy with work or something these days?" Ushijima said to me one morning. I wasn't. I asked him why he asked. He blinked his eyes. "You just seem a bit tired lately, that's all," he said.

He put on his shoes and dropped the key into his pocket, and opened the front door. "I'm on evening training today." Evening training usually lasts until very late so everyone tends to just sleep in at the training center so they could hit the ground running straightaway the next day. "So don't forget to lock up. And remember to turn off the gas. And try not to let work pile up, okay?"

"Good. I'm glad. It seems like forever since you were on an evening round," I said. He gave me a confused-looking smile and shut the door firmly behind him.

It was true that I didn't really mind when Ushijima had to be away overnight. I find it easier to relax when I'm on my own. I like Ushijima a lot, don't get me wrong; that's why I stayed with him. I just don't believe in that kind of love where you've got to be with the person twenty-four seven. But still, I didn't really mean to say such a horrible thing to Ushijima. The second the words came out of my mouth, I felt so sad I wanted to cry. What was wrong with me? Makki told me once that the one complaint he had about Mattsun was that he was always going away on business. Every time he left town, he used to call me on the phone.

"We've only just moved in together, and already he's going off leaving me behind," he'd complain. “I don't know why we move in together at all if it was going to be like this."

"Makes sense," I said (not very helpfully). "Who needs bait once you've caught the fish, right?"

"It's not like that at all," he said, not missing a beat. "He really misses me too, I know he does." Now he was contradicting himself. "You just don't understand, Oikawa." He sounded kind of pissed. I just didn't understand. Come to think of it, maybe that's why I don't get so many calls from him like that anymore.

I snapped the dictionary shut, turned off the lamp, and got up from the desk. I couldn't concentrate on my work that night. I couldn't relax, even though I was alone. I poured myself some whiskey and went into the bathroom. I put the plug in the tub and turned on the tap. I watched the hot water gush into the tub and touched the tip of my tongue to my whiskey. Tiny waves rippled across the surface. I looked down at the ripples, keeping an ear out for the phone. I didn't want to miss my call.

I put my glass on top of the wash basin and went to get a pair of pajamas and some fresh underwear from the bedroom. I put them into my little basket and went back to check on the bath. The tub was still only halfway full, so I went back into the living room and sang a few songs for the framed Iwa-chan. By the time I'd finished singing  _Kiseki_ , and a couple of songs by NICO Touches the Wall the tub was eight-tenths full. I climbed in with my glass of whiskey. I brought the phone into the bathroom with me and put it in the changing area on top of my pajamas.

It felt like ages since the last time I'd been able to drink whiskey in the bath. Ushijima had forbidden it. Before I moved in with him I often used to soak in the tub with a glass of whiskey. It's a great feeling. The alcohol goes straight to your head, and you can feel it working its magic as it courses its way through your system. I used to love it. I could feel all the blood in my body fizzing like soda water, shooting through my veins like the jet-stream in a water slide. My head swimming, my senses strangely acute.

Ushijima said it was really bad for your heart. He made me promise not to do it again. Ever. I nodded and told him I never would, but I didn't really mean it. I slapped at the surface of the water now, making little splashing noises. I didn't think anything about lying. In fact, I was surprised I'd managed to keep my promise for three long years. I slapped at the water some more with my hands. The water splashed and sloshed over the sides of the tub until my hands turned numb.

I got out of the tub and drank a mini-sized can of beer. I could feel the whiskey mixing with the beer behind my eyes. Waves of drunkenness washed over me, and I felt dizzy.

The phone never rang.

 

* * *

 

When Ushijima came home, he had a whole bunch of donuts with him as usual. Athletes on overnight trainings always got the whole of the next morning off. Since they would be back on it in the noon, it would have made more sense to stay and rest at the training center, but Ushijima always came home. He would stop to buy some donuts on his way, and we would have breakfast together, and then he would take a shower, change into a clean track suit, and head back to the training center. A fresh start every day, that was Ushijima's policy.

"It's really nice out," he said.

"I know. We have windows, you know.'

Ushijima stopped and glanced over at me. And then, in a slight upbeat voice, he said, "They had a new kind of donut. Guess what it was."

"Dunno...."

"Plain raisin," he said. "Open it and see." He gestured with his chin toward the box on the table. "Remember you said something once about raisin donuts always coming with that cinnamon flavor? Because you like raisins but not cinnamon? Well, these ones are plain, so I thought you'd like them—"

"Ushiwaka-chan," I interrupted. I couldn't take it anymore. Why did he have to be so  _nice_  all the time? In my heart, I was pleading with him to stop talking, but obviously, he couldn't hear me.

"I asked the girl in the shop just to make sure. She was really nice. She even gave me a free sample—"

"Okay, that's enough." Talking about donuts the minute he gets home. It was giving me heartburn.

"Oikawa, what are you so mad about?" he asked. Ushijima thought there had to be a reason for everything.

"I'm not mad. I'm just not hungry. You didn't have to get me anything. Don't you get tired after training all night? You didn't have to come home, you know," I rattled on.

I said I was going to take a nap and went back to bed. I buried myself under the sheets and cried. I couldn't control myself any longer. I tried to stifle my sobs, and my eyes and nose grew hot and started to sting. It hurt when I breathed, and I was sopping wet with tears. After a while, the door opened a crack and I heard Ushijima’s voice.

"I'm going," he said.

 

* * *

 

"I can't figure out what you're trying to say if you go on crying like that," Iwaizumi said over the phone. "What's wrong? Is Ushiwaka there?"

"No," I said, hiccuping. "Ushiwaka-chan's— _hic_ —at the training center. He was— _hic_ —on the night round last night." I was still crying.

"And that's why you're crying like that?"

"Ushiwaka-chan was on the night rounds..." I hiccuped again.

"Yeah, yeah, you said. And?"

"... Well, that's why."

"Trashykawa?"

I sobbed into the phone. I didn't even know why I was crying. "I drank whiskey in the bath. Ushiwaka-chan didn't call me. He always calls me when he's staying overnight. He bought donuts, but I said some things that were kind of mean. It wasn't even like I meant to, but—"

"Calm down," Iwaizumi said. "Did you call me up just to tell me how great Ushiwaka is?"

"No—"

"Almost sounds like it. You're mad because usually he calls you and buys you donuts, and yesterday he didn't, right?"

"No," I wailed. "He  _did_  buy me donuts."

"Well, whatever." Iwaizumi sighed. "Why don't you just go and have a baby?"

"What are you talking about?"

"If you have a baby, everything will be fine. Hitoka used to get very lonely when I'm on night shifts at the hospital, but once we had Jun, things got fine."

"But it's nothing like that."

"Yeah, yeah," Iwaizumi said. "Think how worried your parents are going to be if you keep carrying on with this arrangement. And it's not fair to Ushiwaka, either."

"But—"

"Why did you move in in the first place?"

I was silent for a while. "I dunno... But I know it wasn't to have children," I answered weakly.

"Well, of course not, but still..." he was saying as I hung up the phone. Iwa-chan didn't understand. There was no way he could understand. I was at a loss.

_"Think how worried your parents will be......And it's not fair to Ushiwaka, either."_

 

* * *

 

"Well, it's certainly been a while," he said with a smile. He looked like an octopus, his broad forehead and reddish skin marked by a thousand wrinkles. His white doctor's coat was as worn-out looking as ever.

"You're looking well. What can I do for you today? Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

I didn't answer.

"I'm here to listen," he said, nodding encouragingly. He was the psychiatrist I had been seeing before I moved in with Ushijima.

"How's life been treating you?" I told him it was going well.

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. It must be a big relief to your parents, too."

"But..." I said, but couldn't think of what to say next. Why was that such a relief to parents anyway?

"But?" he said.

"But I still get irritable, and depressed, and angry, like before. In fact, it's been getting worse lately, and—"

"And?" the doctor asked. I found his businesslike manner amusing. "And I've been really mean and cruel to my housemate."

"For example?"

I explained. For example, there was what I'd said that very morning, the bitchy remarks of the day before, the mean jokes I'd played on him. But even as I went on, I knew I was wasting my time.

Doctor Octopus nodded seriously as I filled him in on the details of how I'd been behaving toward Ushijima. "Really?" he said from time to time, or "Hmm, I see," or "Is that so?" or something else equally meaningless.

"And you've been behaving this way only with your housemate, is that correct?"

I nodded.

"I see." He crossed his arms and sat in silence for a while, apparently deep in thought. But I knew it was just an act. He was only pretending to think. This was always what happened. I knew exactly what he was going to say next. Yet another one of his stock phrases. First, his wrinkled face would break into a smile, and then he would start speaking earnestly and reassuringly as if he had just come up with the perfect solution to the problem. You're fine. Nothing to worry about. It happens all the time.

"You're fine. Nothing to worry about. As far as I can tell, you're just feeling a little confused and upset as a result of all the adjustments you've had to make since you got injured and moved out of home. It happens all the time." A big grin spread across his face as he spoke the last words.

I knew it. It was hopeless. He was contradicting himself again. After all, this was the same man who had told me that all I had to do was get married. Everything would be all right if I got married.

"Have you been having any trouble falling sleep?"

"No."

"What about your appetite?"

"It's okay."

"Good, good," said Doctor Octopus. "I don't need to give you anything for your nerves, then, or anything to help stimulate your appetite. Well, everything seems to be coming along just fine. I think the best advice I can give you now is to start thinking about starting a family. Everything will be fine once you settle down and have your first child."

Was this really the best he could come up with?

The trees along the road back to the station shone a beautiful dewy green, and there was a gentle breeze in the air. When it came down to it, I thought, all psychiatrists were the same. It's not as if this one was particularly bad. There was nothing anyone could do about it, and that was all there was to it. I bought a ticket at the window. Where  _were_  my 'nerves,' anyway? I'd never even seen them myself, so how was a doctor supposed to be able to treat them? I looked up at the timetable and handed in my ticket at the gate. There was a sharp crisp clip as the ticket-collector punched my ticket. And then suddenly, something occurred to me. Or rather, someone: Osamu. He was training to be a brain surgeon. He dealt with the brain, not just invisible abstract things like 'nerves.'

 

* * *

 

It was a big hospital, and there were tropical plants growing in the courtyard. I was led into a small, cramped room. The white accordion shades that hung over all the windows made me feel all the more claustrophobic.

"Doing a little hospital hopping, I see?" Osamu said, smiling. It was getting dark already, and in the courtyard outside I could see groups of patients out for their evening walk. I nodded absent-mindedly as I watched the crows gathering in the sky.

"You know, to tell you the truth," he said, "I hate chicken." What? Startled, I looked at Osamu. He had a pale complexion and finely drawn clear-cut features. His eye seemed to droop more than Atsumu but he had the same cheerful vibe nonetheless. "Remember the first time I came over to your house and you served fried chicken for dinner? I don't know how I managed to eat it."

"Oh." Had he heard any of what I had said?

"It was also strange for me to feel so comfortable, so much at ease, with someone I was meeting for the first time."

So comfortable, so much at ease?

"Is this some kind of psychological treatment?" I asked. "What do you mean by 'this'?"

"You know. They do it all the time. It's supposed to seem like we're just chatting, but really you're trying to delve into my innermost—"

Osamu looked at me with a glint in his eyes and smiled. "Unfortunately, that kind of thing is beyond the range of a humble brain surgeon in training like me," he said. "No, I'm afraid I can't offer you any therapy," he said, opening a drawer, "but I can give you some medicine." He pulled out a black tin. It was a tin of hard candies.

"Here," he said, holding out his hand toward me. On his palm were five candies. Red. Green. Orange. Powdery. Round. I took them from him without a word.

 

* * *

 

A gust of wind blew in through the window, and the calendar on the wall fluttered slightly in the breeze.

Iwaizumi was waiting for me when I got home.

"Where've you been? I've been worried sick about you," he said. Ushijima was already home. He was busy buttering crackers.

"I want you to tell me what's going on." Iwaizumi was angry. Jun was asleep on the sofa.

"I was at the hospital. They gave me some really yummy medicine. Here, try some."

"What!" Iwaizumi screeched. "I don't want any of your stupid medicine! What was that phone call all about anyway? You got me so worried!" He sounded crazy.

"Sorry," I said.

Ushijima came over and joined me as I apologized, holding one hand up before him as if in prayer. "Sorry for all the trouble we've caused you," he said.

"Wait a minute! Why are you taking his side, Ushiwaka?" Iwaizumi demanded. His side! It sounded like the kind of thing an angry little kid would say. I couldn't help laughing out loud.

"It's not funny."

"Sorry," I said again. Iwaizumi went over to the refrigerator and took out a can of yuzu fizz, which he proceeded to down in one gulp.

"Are you trying to tell me I was freaking out about nothing? That's  _so_  not funny. And you, Ushiwaka, won't you get a little mad, please?"

Ushijima chuckled as he opened a can of sardines. "I'm used to it," he said. Iwaizumi went on and on moaning and complaining, chomping on one after another of the sardine-topped crackers that Ushijima kept handing to him. He'd finished three cans of yuzu fizz by the time he finally went home. He was still angry, though, and he kept on telling me how stupid he thought my behavior was, right up until the door shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

"Why don't we eat the donuts for dinner," I suggested.

Ushijima said flat out that he'd rather not, but he went over and made some coffee right away. I laid out the silverware next to the plates. While we waited for the coffee to brew, I told Ushijima about my visit to Osamu. He looked shocked.

"What? You went to see Osamu?"

I was surprised to see him so upset. "Yes. I thought it was a good idea since he's a brain surgeon and all."

"It's totally different." I was taken aback by Ushijima's tone. He had never been so curt with me before.

"Are you mad?"

No, he said, his voice already back to normal. "So what did he say?" he asked.

"He said it wasn't his field. Not his domain, or something."

Ushijima coughed. "I'm also a friend, too, you know," he said.

"No." I looked down. I couldn't go to Ushijima. It wouldn't do any good if I did. I'd just become more and more dependent on him, that's all.

Ushijima broke the silence. "I give good advice too, you know..." he said quietly. It made me sad to hear him making such a lame remark. It was so unlike him, so unnatural.

"Just because you're good doesn't mean you're the right person for me." I was surprised at the edginess of my own words. I stuffed a donut into my mouth to prevent myself from uttering anything more.

"So the in-house counselor is disqualified, then," Ushijima said, pouring the coffee. Silently, I put the rest of the donut in my mouth. The coffee was weak but hot, and the raisins were soft and sweet. I could taste the oil and sugar mixing in my mouth, and I felt like crying again.

 


	6. Wakatoshi

Oikawa's been acting really depressed lately. He spends most of his time brooding, staring off into space in sullen silence. Just when I'm least expecting it, he'll blurt out something really aggressive and confrontational. Next thing I know, his eyes are welling up with tears again for no obvious reason and he's looking over at me with this horrible pathetic look in his eyes. Everyone has their ups and downs, I guess, but Oikawa's are a little extreme. I've learned that it's best not to get too upset or to show too much concern, and anyway, I like Oikawa best when he's himself. But even so, I've started to wonder recently if it was really such a good idea to let things go on like this for so long. His attempts to improve the situation by going to see his old doctor and dropping in on Osamu made my heart ache. Always fighting his battles alone.

"What's on your mind?" Atsumu asked. I was lying on his small and uncomfortable bed, with its beat-up old mattress and striped sheets. Atsumu's bed.

"Lemme guess, actually." Atsumu was hunched over on the floor, clipping his toenails. "Your mom, right? You said at dinner she came by at the training center."

"Wrong."

Next to the pillow, Atsumu's clock was flashing 1 a.m. It had a huge digital display and an alarm that went right through you when it went off. Next to the clock were a lamp and a potted cactus.

"Did you have to remind me of that?" I said. "No, I was thinking about Oikawa. I'm worried about him. He's getting more and more unstable every day."

"I'm not surprised," Atsumu said, as unconcerned as ever as he rolled up the tissue he'd been using to catch his toenails in. I looked down at Atsumu's straight bar back, and tossed him his T-shirt, which had been lying crumpled on a pile on top of the bed. Atsumu knew all too well the effect his slim tanned body had on me.

"Put that on. You'll catch a cold."

He stood up straight, bathed in the moonlight that came streaking in through the blinds, his shadow stretched in stripes across the floor in front of him.

"Well I'm sorry, but I like being naked."

As I showered, I remembered the way mother had looked when she'd stopped by the training center that afternoon: so serious. "I hear the success rates are very high,' she'd said. "Why the hesitance? If you won't explain your reasons to me, how can you expect me to understand?" She'd gone on and on about hiring a matchmaking agency: how wonderful the success rates were lately. And then she'd given me a long passionate speech about the vital role of marriage, starting a family, and about all the joys they brought into one’s life. Funny she should say that when she and father separated. 

"And Oikawa-san? Maybe I should recommend him too. I'm sure his parents are hoping he could have someone to take care of him, too." Mother paused and heaved a dramatic sigh. She was staring down at the ashtray on the table. "When I think of the misleading ideas you’re filling Oikawa-san’s head with, it makes me so very unhappy. It would be tougher to explain to his parents, you know, if this keeps going. They must really think you’re going to take care of their son forever”

"Oh, Mother." I sat down across from her and looked her straight in the face. Her lustreless skin, her carefully plucked eyebrows, her thin painted lips, the small beauty mark just below her right eye.

"I'm just not ready," I said. "I don't feel like settling down yet."

A strange look of satisfaction overtook mother's face. "But that's what we're here for," she said, smiling gently. "We'll do everything we can to help. It's all right, you know. Everyone's nervous at first." I caught a whiff of the perfume she always wore and felt my stomach turn.

When I came back from the bathroom, Atsumu was whirring the juicer. His health potion of choice was fresh vegetable juice mixed with egg yolk.

"So what did you think of the lubricant?" he said. Atsumu had bought a new mint-and-lime-scented lubricant for us to use when we made love. In the past, we'd always stuck to creams that were fragrance-free, and at first, I objected that I didn't want to use anything scented (and especially not something like mint, which I thought would seep into my skin). "Says here that it's all natural ingredients, though," Atsumu had said. "Easy on the skin." And so eventually I'd agreed to give it a try.

"It was okay, huh?"

I grunted agreement and took a bottle of Evian from the refrigerator. Oikawa was over at his parents' place. In fact, he was the one who had suggested that I come over and stay with Atsumu, since it had been so long. "I'll probably end up having to stay the night," he had argued. "I'm sure my parents will be happy to have me. I  _am_  their only son, after all."

"Now what's on your mind?" Atsumu asked me.

"Nothing," I said, but he didn't fall for that. He laughed and gave me one of his "Oh yeah?" looks.

"Hey Wakatoshi-kun, why don't you just sleep with Tooru-kun?" He said it casually enough, but something in his voice told me he was quite serious. I was so taken aback that I didn't know what to say. Then I started to feel really annoyed. How could he say such things?

"Do you mind not kidding me about stuff like that?" I requested.

"You don't feel sorry for him?" he asked. "I wouldn't mind. I mean, I'm not one of those dime-novel queers, remember, who are super obssessive over his boyfriend." He poured the thick green brew he had just concocted into a cup and looked over at me solemnly. "You've never even tried it, have you?"

I told him to cut it out. True, it was no secret that I have been in love with Oikawa since middle school. It also didn't escape Atsumu that Oikawa is now probably feeling that way for me but I told myself with resolve that right now the one I’m in love is Atsumu. I gulped down my Evian, which seemed to have no taste at all that night. "You got anything stronger?" I asked.

"Booze? I think there's still half a bottle of gin lying around somewhere." He asked me if I wanted to watch a film, picking out a DVD. Some B-grade American action flick. "Cool car chases."

Gin, huh? Too bad there's no kummel, I thought. I was surprised to find myself thinking such a thing. I'd never even heard of it until fairly recently.

And so we settled down in front of the TV and watched Atsumu's lousy movie screech its way to its ear-splitting climax while he worked on his vegetable sludge and I sipped my gin on the rocks. It was yet another of the pointless blood-splattered movies Atsumu seemed to enjoy so much.

It was four by the time I left Atsumu's. The roads were deserted. Great, I thought, I should be able to get home by five, have a nice long soak in the bath, and eat a proper breakfast.

After all, I wanted to start the day out right, even if it was a Saturday and there was nothing I really needed to do.

Outside, pale early morning light washed across the sky, the moon and the stars now little more than dimming lights fixed in the fast-fading darkness. Street lamps shone on indecisively. Driving home at dawn like this reminded me of my early years in the national team when I used to spend every night at Atsumu's place, leaving while the rest of the world was still asleep. One after another, the familiar old sights were coming back: the moon in the brightening sky, faint and pale over the highway fences; the green emergency phones every few miles; the exit signs. Driving like that, I felt as if I had gone back in time.

I took off my shoes at the door and stepped into the house. I turned into the living room. And there on my left, by the doorway, was Oikawa flopped down on the floor.

"Whoa!" I shouted in surprise, but there was no reaction. I could see that he'd been crying. There wasn't a single light on.

"I'm home."

"Welcome back," said Oikawa. His face was expressionless. There was no sign of movement. He was staring fixedly at the Iwaizumi on the wall.

"You didn't go over to your mother's?"

"I did, but I came back."

Gosh, he looked depressed. Haunted. The air felt heavy and stagnant all around him.

"You’ve been sitting there all night?"

"I was singing for Iwa-chan. Then he said he'd sing something back to me, so I've been sitting here waiting and waiting, but he won't sing at all."

I was still in a state of shock. I could feel blood retreat from my fingertips. "Oikawa?"

Oikawa sat still, staring unblinkingly ahead at the picture on the wall. What should I do now, I wondered. Put him to bed? Try and talk things over with him? Maybe he'd start to feel better after a bath, or a glass of warm milk?

"I'm kidding," Oikawa said with a straight face. "He's just a picture. He can't sing." He got up and went out on the veranda. He probably just wanted to get away from me. I was always making such a big deal about everything.

"You can still see the stars." He got out the telescope and peered into it. So pale and faint, he said. "You can't count on anything, can you? Not even the moon and the stars."

What the hell was going on? Baffled, I went and changed out of my tracksuit. Then I washed my hands and made some coffee. Oikawa was still peering into the telescope. I dusted off my shoes and put them away on the shoe rack. I poured the coffee into our morning mugs and looked over to the veranda. Oikawa was still standing in the same position, hunched over the telescope.

"Oikawa!" I shouted over to him. No response. Amazing the way he could stay in that position for so long without his back hurting. I went to get myself a chair. It was still early morning, and it was cold out on the veranda. It didn't feel much like summer.

One eye still glued to the telescope, Oikawa stood dripping silent tears—not a sob, not a sniff, not a hiccup. There was a strange tenseness in the air.

"Oikawa?"

I put my arms around him from behind and tried to drag him away from the telescope, but it was useless. He tensed up and hugged the telescope like a child. He was sobbing now. "Leave me alone, I'm fine," he said in a weak crushed voice between sobs. And then, suddenly, the floodgates opened, he started bawling and the tears came in torrents. He had given himself up entirely to his crying, with no energy left to resist. I dragged him back into the house. I spoke to him in a soft voice, trying to coax some kind of response out of him. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Please stop crying."

No reaction.

I took a sip of coffee. Calm down, calm down. "Why won't you tell me what's wrong?" I said.

Oikawa stiffened again and stopped crying. He raised his tear-stained face and glared at me. "Don't use your oh-so-mighty voice on me." There was hostility in his eyes. "I'm not one of your players, you know."

Oikawa grabbed my cup of coffee and drank it down in one gulp, "just now," he began, wiping his mouth angrily with the back of his hand. He was seething, boiling over with a rage he didn't know how to express. "You thought I'd really gone crazy, didn't you? Like, I guess he really does have problems, waiting all night for the picture to sing? He's really flipped this time, that's what you were thinking I bet."

"But that's not how it is at all," he said and started to cry again. "You just don't get it, Ushiwaka-chan. It's not like that at all," he kept insisting, hiccupping and sniffling in between sobs. He was so upset he couldn't even string a sentence together. This was shaping up into a real tragedy.

"I understand, I understand, it's okay," I said, crouching down next to him, waiting for him to stop crying. "I'm going to heat up the bath. Why don't you warm up a bit first and then we'll have some breakfast."

I got breakfast ready while Oikawa soaked in the bath. At first, I thought I'd make him pancakes, his favorite, but I didn't want to be accused of treating him like an invalid in need of spoiling. I decided to make some cheese-on-toast and salad instead. I got a bottle of low-alcohol champagne (less than 2%, suitable for children) and stuck it in the freezer to chill. I'd often seen champagne on breakfast menus in hotels overseas, and one time I'd tried it out at home. Oikawa had loved it, and since then it had become one of our little treats: champagne with breakfast.

Oikawa was in the bath for two whole hours. He always liked to take his time in the bath, but the exact length of time he spent there was inversely proportional to how happy he was feeling. The worse his mood, the longer his bathing. By the time he came out, though, he seemed much more relaxed. He was wearing a white T-shirt and faded jeans. He toweled off his hair and plopped himself down on the sofa. I used the champagne stirrer to conjure up some bubbles, and handed him a glass of the clear golden liquid. He sipped at it quietly.

"Hmm, that's good, thanks," he noted in a voice empty of emotion.

"How was your mom?" I was only making conversation, but it was enough to make Oikawa frown and put up his guard again.

"Fine."

"Was your dad there too?"

He was glaring at me now, a look of protest in his eyes. "My parents are both fine. Yuutarou and Akira were there too, and they were both fine, too." He was making it quite clear that he didn't want to discuss the matter any further.

"I see," I said gently, backing off. Yuutarou and Akira were his father's beloved Java sparrows.

"Your mother called last night," Oikawa said casually, lifting up a piece of cheese-on-toast and studying it closely. "Just wondering how we were doing, that's all."

Mother? Now it was my turn to tense up. But that was all Oikawa had to say on the subject. He washed down his toast with the champagne.

"Tell me a story about 'Tsumu-chan," he said. "Tell me about when you fight."

"God, I don't know. We've had so many," I said. Tell me about the worst one then, he said. Our worst fight ever?

"It was back when Atsumu was still in high school," I said. "There was this girl who had a big crush on him, and one day she came to ask me to help her out. Atsumu and I were next-door neighbors in those days, really close. I felt sorry for her, so I set them up on a date. I begged Atsumu to go along with it. Just that once, you know, as a favor to me. But you know Atsumu. 'No way,' he said, 'I don't wanna go, so I'm not gonna go.' You can imagine. So I said fine, what if I come along too? And so finally, I got him to agree, but just barely. As if I would really tag along on someone else's date. I showed up with an excuse that I'd made up. Something had come up and I couldn't be their chaperone. Atsumu totally freaked out. He squatted down right in the middle of the crosswalk, refusing to budge until I promised to come with them. All around us, cars are honking away like crazy. The poor girl who had the crush on Atsumu is absolutely livid. You can imagine. Atsumu can be impossible to deal with sometimes. So there he is, sitting in the middle of the road, shouting his head off: 'You're the worst. You can't even keep a promise! It's not human!' So I'm like fine, whatever, come on let's get off the road, it's not safe sitting here like that. We finally cross the street and I tell him, 'Well, see you tomorrow.' At this, he lets out a big roar like a bear and comes right at me. I was stunned. He was only a kid, but he was really violent and I couldn't do anything to hold him back. In the end, it turned into a real fight; I mean, we were really laying into each other. We even got taken into custody and everything. Now that I think about it, though, it was that poor girl who came out of it the worst. She was crying the whole time at the police station."

"Poor thing. Getting your heart broken really sucks," Oikawa said with unexpected feeling. A strange feeling swept across me. "Was that after you guys were already together?"

"Just before."

"Oh," he said, looking off into the distance as if lost in his own memories. "You go way back, you and 'Tsumu-chan. It's amazing no one in the team knew."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nibbled at my toast.

"I really like 'Tsumu-chan, you know," he said suddenly, and poured himself some more of the fake champagne. He waited for me to stir it up and then sipped at it slowly. "Too bad 'Tsumu-chan can't have your baby, huh?"

That floored me. I was speechless for a while. I knew all of a sudden what Mother's phone call had been about.

"Don't worry about whatever mother said." His expression grew tense.

"Iwa-chan was telling me to have a baby, too, the last time we talked. It's only natural, he said.  _And_  Doctor Octopus. But he said the same thing about getting married, too. Everyone's so weird. Why do they all have to tell me to have a family? I already have you, ‘Tsumu-chan, Iwa-chan, ‘Samu-chan, Tetsun, and Kou-chan. We’re a family! I don’t need another one." Contrary to my expectations, though, Oikawa didn't start crying. "I just wish we could stay like this."

"We can," I said.

"My mom said I was being selfish when I went to see her. That I wasn't being fair to you. Or them."

"That's not true," I said, but Oikawa wasn't listening.

"We had a big fight. I decided not to stay over and came back home. But then your mother called, around nine. And she said why don't I try this matchmaking agency and stuff." Oikawa looked upset and confused. "What's wrong with them?" he asked. "Why can't things just stay the way they are? We're so natural like this."

Whatever exactly he meant by "natural", the confidence with which he made the assertion made me feel warm and fuzzy.

Oikawa piled up the breakfast dishes. "I'm just gonna take a quick nap," he said and stood up. "You want to sleep too? I'll iron the sheets for you."

"Yeah, good idea. Let's both have a nap." I carried the dishes over to the sink. "Don't bother about ironing the sheets, though. It's gotten warmer."

It was a winter thing, to iron out the sheets. I didn't hear any reply, so I turned off the faucet and shouted, "You don't have to iron the bed, okay?" But I didn't hear any response. When I turned around, Oikawa was still standing in the corner of the kitchen.

"What, you been there the whole time?"

"You said it was my job to iron the bed," Oikawa said. He looked desperate. "If the sheets feel too hot, you could wait until they cool down. I thought you said you liked it when the sheets are all sharp and clean."

"...Yes, you're right," I said. I had no choice but to agree, he looked so frantic. His face, which looked so determined just moments ago, was now helplessly scrunched up. Pale, small, feeble. As I watched him go into the bedroom to do the ironing, I knew that I was the one making him feel so cornered. It was breaking my heart.

 


End file.
